


tumblr drabbles compilation

by Skeiler



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-13 00:40:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16882350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skeiler/pseuds/Skeiler
Summary: Gathering up all my drabbles written for tumblr prompts over the years so that they don't disappear if my tumblr does. Originally posted @ pancake-expert.tumblr.com.





	1. Amnesia Fortnight

_Prompt from architeuthis: MCU, Sam/Steve, Amnesia Fortnight: en.wikipedia[.]org/wiki/Double_Fine_Productions#Amnesia_Fortnight_

“So, we have two weeks to come up with a game that gets played on this?” Steve asked. He turned the iPad over and swiped his finger around the screen.

“Yep, that’s the general idea. We thought it would be great to have you two participate this year since people can’t get enough of the YouTube videos of the stunts you pulled in D.C. jumping off those helicarriers and then blowing them up.”

Steve’s eyebrows knitted together as he eyed the chirpy young game designer. “I wouldn’t exactly call that a stunt…”

“This is totally amazing,” Sam cut in. “This is the absolute best. I’m gonna be in a video game with Captain America.”

“The way it works,” explained another cheerful kid, “you give us some ideas for what the game should be about and then we’ll design and build the prototype. Then people donate to charity in order to vote on which games get fully developed.”

Steve turned the iPad around again and watched the screen flip. “Well. It should be educational. Something that will really make people think and teach them—”

“No, Steve,” Sam cut in. “No. Steve. No. It should be a fight game and it should have explosions. Us versus Hydra! And a flight level where they get to be me. Like those iPad car game where you turn the iPad to steer.”

Sam demonstrated by using the iPad as a steering wheel. “This is going to be the best.”


	2. Historians AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from anonymous: historians au: Steve and Peggy are scholars of the same subject. Steve spends months getting increasingly frustrated because someone keeps requesting the documents/collections he needs for his current research paper. Spoiler Alert: It's Peggy. Steve confronts her about it. He doesn't remember much about the conversation but somehow he ends up agreeing to wait until she is finished and also a a date for Friday night.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Mr. Coates mumbled politely through his bushy white beard. “That file box has already been picked up for the day.”

Steve’s eyebrows knitted together as Mr. Coates handed back Steve’s request slip. “Someone else is working with my collection?”

Mr. Coates laughed kindly. “‘Your’ collection. Ah, Steve. You academics are so possessive about your projects.” Steve smiled back at him. “The other patron is working on a slightly different thesis from yours, but she’s told me she’ll be needing the Wallis papers for the next few weeks.”

“But Mr. Coates, I’m not going to be here much longer, I’m almost at the end of my fellowship. Is there any way I can reserve the box, and make sure I get access to the papers when I need it?” Steve asked, concerned. His stay in Oxford was coming to a close and he was feeling very apprehensive about the amount of work he still had to do before he flew back to New York.

“You both filed a request for those papers for today,” Mr. Coates explained, patiently. “Normally we would give preference to the requestor over anyone else, but since you are both the requestor I’m afraid not. You can ask if you can sit at the same table, but you must be very careful not to get the folders out of order.”

Steve sighed and felt a bit prickly at that. This wasn’t his first time using an archival collection, he knew how important it was to keep things in order. “Do you know where she’s sitting? The other patron?”

“I think I saw her go into that bay there, under the portrait of Queen Elizabeth,” Mr. Coates replied. “Do you still want Wallis’ sketchbooks?”

“No, thank you, not right now,” Steve said. He turned away from the desk and headed down the central walkway with a sigh. He was expecting to find a little grey-haired old lady, the kind of Oxford academic he’d seen throughout his stay wandering in and out of the various reading rooms in the Bodleian, dodging stressed out students and grumbling about the lack of adequate heating. Steve was surprised when he peered around the corner to the bay and found a beautiful brunette bent over one of the folders from his box and making rapid notations on a pad of ruled paper. She looked so engrossed in her work, Steve almost walked on without asking about the box.

“Can I help you?”

Steve jumped. He hadn’t noticed the woman look up at him. “Sorry, are you using the Wallis papers?”

“Yes, I am,” she replied.

“I, um. I need them, I’m here on a fellowship working on my dissertation and I am not going to be here much longer and I really need them,” Steve blathered. “Could I sit next to you? And also use the box. Or can I have it and could you use it some other time?”

The woman looked him up and down as he stood there clutching his little plastic baggie containing his laptop, pencils, and notepad. “No, I’m sorry, I also need these papers to finish a paper I’m presenting at a conference in a few weeks. Perhaps you could arrive earlier in the day and get to them first rather than interrupting other people while they’re working.”

Steve sputtered, “B- but- I need it.”

The woman looked at him vaguely pityingly. “Do you know a lot about Henry Wallis?”

“Yes,” Steve replied. “I’m writing my dissertation on him. His art. Him and his art.”

“My name is Peggy Carter and perhaps in exchange for letting you use the files tomorrow, I could let you take me to dinner and tell me about Wallis to help me with this paper.”

“Yes, okay,” Steve agreed. “I’d love to take you to dinner and help you write your paper.”

“Good, I’ll see you tomorrow next to the statue of William Herbert at six o’clock. Have a lovely afternoon.”

“You too,” Steve replied before turning and leaving the library, wondering all the while what had just happened.


	3. Unwilling Dance Partners AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from anonymous: unwilling dance partners au: Bucky refuses to let Steve spend another Friday night at home with his nose in his sketchbook so he takes him out dancing. Probably swing dancing. Anyway, he drags a reluctant Steve out on the dance floor and Steve stumbles through a dance lesson from Bucky. He's not great but they laugh and hang on each other anyway. Meanwhile, an amused Peggy Carter sets her drink down on the bar and walks over to cut it in.

“No, Stevie, your left,” the brunette sighed wearily. 

Peggy watched from the bar as he shifted the smaller, blond man in his arms and they started counting steps together again. She smiled into her highball when the blond man’s eyes passed over hers as he and his partner turned—their eyes caught briefly and the blond man stumbled against his friend’s shoulder. The brunette sighed long-sufferingly, “Stevie.”

“Sorry, Buck,” the short man said. They reset their positions and started again, getting a little bit further than they had before. After a few seconds, they both tried to turn the same way and ended up bumping into each other again. The shorter one emitted a little giggle, but the taller one just grumbled irritably.

“Stevie, we can’t both lead,” the brunette sighed as he stepped back and cuffed the smaller man on the shoulder. Together, they approached the bar. “One of us has to follow.”

“But Bucky, I thought you were teaching me to dance,” Stevie replied. They wound up standing at the bar next to Peggy.

“I am,” the one called Bucky replied.

“To dance with-” Stevie dropped his voice and glanced around his friend to where Peggy was sipping her drink and calmly pretending she wasn’t eavesdropping. “You know. To dance with girls. So I need to know how to lead.”

Bucky sighed again. “Well, I don’t know how to teach you to lead if you can’t learn how to follow first.”

“Why don’t I give you a hand?” Peggy said. She turned and set her drink on the bartop and smiled at the two of them. The shorter man’s jaw seemed in jeopardy of hitting the floor, it had dropped so far when Peggy had spoken. The brunette smiled, his mouth sliding into a smear across the lower part of his face. Peggy smiled back and held out her hand to the shorter man. “Shall we dance?”


	4. Bar Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by mthenefarious: “sorry i knocked you out in that bar fight last night, but i brought you to the hospital and stuck around ‘til you woke up to apologize” Okay, but this is definitely a Steve/Peggy/Bucky prompt wherein bartender!Bucky is trying to break up a fight that Peggy is part of and she accidentally clocks him right in the face. She probably finds Steve listed in his emergency contacts and they chat until Bucky wakes up. Then they all go on a date probably.

“So… what happened exactly?” Steve asked.

Peggy sighed and prepared herself to tell the same story for the third time that night. She was sitting on an uncomfortable chair in a hospital waiting room next to a small blond man who was looking at her with a mixture of amusement and curiosity and the most beautiful blue eyes she’d ever seen.

“Well,” Peggy began, “I was out drinking with a couple of coworkers.”

Steve tried not to laugh. “If I had a dollar for every time Bucky’s told me a story that started that way and ended up… well, here, I’d have a lot more dollars than I do now.”

Peggy smiled at him. “Sadly I’ve got my own more than fair share of them. Anyway, I was a little bit drunk and these men started harassing my friend and I, and I just wasn’t going to stand for it and they didn’t believe me when I said I would put them down if they didn’t shove off. And I guess the bartender—Bucky—got in the middle somehow and I clocked him without realizing it. I feel simply awful about it.”

Steve reached out and gently patted Peggy’s shoulder. “Bucky’s got a soft spot for pretty ladies, I’m sure he’ll forgive you. How did you find my number, anyway?”

“When I realized what had happened and that you friend was out cold—it’s amazing how quickly you sober up in situations like that—I called a taxi to bring us here and started going through his wallet and phone to see who his emergency contact is,” Peggy explained.

“Well, I’m glad you did,” Steve said, with a blush and the most earnest puppy dog expression Peggy had ever seen. 

As they sat there staring into each other’s eyes, the door to the waiting area opened and Bucky walked out. He was sporting the world’s finest shiner around his left eye. Both Peggy and Steve jumped up and rushed toward him in unison. Bucky gave Peggy the stink eye.

“Concussion and one hell of a headache,” Bucky explained as Steve reached up to gently caress Bucky’s cheek. “Lay off, Steve.”

“I am so sorry,” Peggy said. “I didn’t even realize you’d step in front of that moron.” Bucky grumbled. “Let me make it up to you. Breakfast is on me. I know the best late night diner in Brooklyn. Best pancakes anywhere.”

“They better be,” Bucky replied.

[And then they all had pancakes and lived happily ever after and now I want pancakes too.]


	5. Strikhedonia 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> architeuthis prompt: Steve Rogers, strikhedonia.

_**Strikhedonia** \- The pleasure of being able to say “to hell with it”._

Steve doesn’t recognize the moment when it happens, but later he can’t stop thinking about it. He plays the scene over and over in his mind—the downside to having an improved memory is that it fuels his tendency to overanalyze past actions to try and draw useful information that can influence his future plans. Ever the consummate tactician, Steve never makes a move without thoroughly thinking through every possible angle and devising the best possible plan of attack.

So in considering the way he threw caution to the wind and leapt before he looked, Steve finds it odd that a course of action that had so little forethought proved to be so ultimately successful. Odd… and strangely freeing.

One thing he does know for certain, this new “to hell with it” attitude is probably Sam Wilson’s fault.


	6. Strikhedonia 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tumblr user the-lion-machine prompt: Natasha Romanova - Strikhedonia

_**Strikhedonia** \- The pleasure of being able to say “to hell with it”._

Natasha refuses to admit to anyone how utterly paralyzing it is to be burned so hard and so completely. To be so exposed. To be a person without an identity.

In the days after parting ways with Steve by Fury’s grave, she’s laid low in all the ways she knows how—hotels paid for with cash, calmly moving from place to place, using all the tips and tricks she’s ever learned to blend in. She knows it can’t last—this is the calm before the storm, the slight hesitation of her fingers over the keys when Pierce asked “Are you ready for the world to see you as you really are?”—but she’s using this interlude even while she’s hiding and scared. Learning, growing. Imagining all the myriad people she could become, letting her mind spin off every name she could use—her brain settles briefly on Natela, “light, bright,” if she remembers correctly, but she keeps circling back to the name she was born with.

_Natalia._

Steve wanted to know who she was, as if personal identity was immutable and the only thing that made a person trustworthy. Nat has no idea who Natalia is, whether she’s kind or bitchy or loyal or courageous or prone to crying in chick flicks or fond of chick flicks at all.

But to hell with it, Nat thinks. She squares her shoulders and smiles, the first genuine smile in a while. She’s going to find out who Natalia is. And it’s gonna be fun.


	7. Steve Rogers, America's Favorite AARP Spokesperson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For metonymy <3

Nat was in the kitchen when she heard what sounded like someone being choked out in the living room. She grabbed the gun she always kept stashed in the cookie jar before dropping and rolling through the doorway, all senses on high alert and ready to neutralize whatever threat presented itself.

What she found instead was Clint lying on the floor, laughing so hard that he was practically crying and making inhuman croaking noises. She dropped out of battle stance and gave him a nudge with her foot, “What the hell, Barton?”

Clint pointed at the TV, muted as usual during the commercial break.

On the screen a smiling Steve Rogers proudly displayed his AARP membership card.

Nat dove for the remote and started slamming the unmute button as hard as she could, just in time to hear Steve chirpily say, “Join me and millions of other youthful over-fifties seniors in AARP.”


End file.
